so this is what responsibility feels like

[fahye]

Wow. Having a dead computer makes me actually behave like a med student. I went to my two labs this morning -- Jesus Christ, bones are tricky little buggers when you actually look at them, and I am rethinking my love of the clavicle -- and then I spent some time in the LIBRARY with my NOTES and I've thoroughly revised my upper limb anatomy and the entire text chapter on clinical examination of the respiratory system. Man. The things you have time to do when you don't have classes from 8am-5pm (this week is remarkably light \o/) and also don't have fic writing itself feverishly in your head.

Tomorrow classes finish at 11am and I am determined to be likewise productive in the afternoon, but you know what, I'm kind of enjoying this being-uncharacteristically-prolific thing, so for the gaps in between study:

Drabble requests?

You know what I write. Though if you're having trouble deciding, I'm on this serious animated-things kick at the moment, so throw me Avatar/anime-of-your-choice prompts and everyone will be happy.

(Please note that due to the fickle natures of both free time & inspiration, I am not putting my hand on my heart and swearing to finish every request this time, but...request away anyhow! We'll see how I go.)

Comments

[fahye.livejournal.com]

"Forty percent."

"Fifteen," says Tamaki, who isn't really paying much attention. Kyouya is spinning a pen in his fingers and has one long leg clad in very expensive black fabric stretched out over the arm of the sofa, and his shirt is so flawlessly stiff that Tamaki wants to throw himself bodily onto his best friend and wrinkle it all up.

Come to think of it, he can't think of a good reason not to.

"Thirty-seven," says Kyouya, who never bargains like normal people, but creeps downwards or upwards as though someone's glued him to a ladder, "and I -- oof --"

"Twenty." Tamaki grins at him from a focal distance, liking the way the other boy's eyes cross and then align distractedly behind his glasses. "Hi."

"Idiot. We're leaving in ten minutes, do you think I have time to get my shirt re-ironed?" Kyouya's mouth becomes a straight line and he drops his pen so that he can take firm hold of Tamaki's shoulders and push him off. "I spend my life making sure things run smoothly, and this is what I get."

"Yes, yes, I don't deserve you," Tamaki rambles, resisting the push, wriggling around and making himself more comfortable. Kyouya hasn't put his tie on yet; Tamaki works the top button of the Ootori's shirt open, and then the next. "But you'd be bored if your plans never got interrupted."

Kyouya removes his glasses with two neat fingers and gives Tamaki a slow, mathematical look, the look that means he's calculating time losses and contingency plans in his head, and enjoying it. After a moment he picks up his cell phone and makes a brief call, ordering two more formal suits to be prepared and laid out in the guest suite. Then he snaps the phone shut and places it carefully on the ground. "Fifteen minutes," he says finally, tangling his fingers in Tamaki's hair. "Don't waste it."

Tamaki grins and undoes three more buttons.